


Burning Love

by Unicorn (Jensee)



Series: Tumblr Mini-fics [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Jon being an oblivious dick, M/M, The Beholding, canon-typical creepiness, god im terrible at this tagging shit, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 05:22:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16486658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jensee/pseuds/Unicorn
Summary: Disastrous breakfast experience at Martin's new flat.





	Burning Love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt given by Chyww : pleasbe pblease blease the cooking fire alarm one wirth. jon and martin pls also you KNOW jons the shitty cool in this situation  
> I tried to deliver. Of course it ended up being much more angsty than expected because why not

It couldn’t be that complicated - had thought Jon as he had bought the eggs and the muffins at the store - to make egg benedict.

Martin’s new flat was small, and his water didn’t have enough pressure in the shower, but it had wide windows pouring light into the tiny kitchen corner, and Martin had confessed to having a lot less nightmares since he had let his colleagues convince him to move out.  
And well, if the large windows gave ample opportunity to feel as though they were being constantly watched, neither Jon nor Martin had mentioned it.

Jon starred uselessly at the egg container he had bravely put down in front of him. Automatically, his eyes began to follow the lines of text, absentmindedly drinking in all of the information about fair trade, good alimentation, and low prices.

Putting the bacon in a pan, and the muffin in the toaster was the easy part, and once Jon had done that he could concentrate on his real challenge.

In theory, Jon  _knew_  how to make poached eggs. His grandmother had known how to make them and, whenever he would loiter in the kitchen out of boredom, she would explain to him, in that clipped tone of hers, the why and how of what she was doing.  
He remembered her explanations, her movements, and he figured imitating them wouldn’t be too much of a hassle. She had made it seem almost easy.

Despite all of this, it probably wasn’t surprising that, by the time a suspicious smell started to spread throughout the kitchen, Jon had barely made any headway, and didn’t react to the outwards sign of oncoming disaster.

Jon barely suppressed a shriek when the fire alarm started beeping loudly right over his head. Finally distracted from the eggs, he saw then that the bacon had shriveled in the pan, taking on an unsettling charred appearance, and that it was beginning to fume heavily. Jon removed the pan from the stove hastily to put it under the faucet. Steam immediately erupted out of it, blinding him for an instant, and emitting a loud hissing sound.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Jon turned to see a bleary-eyed Martin stumbling into the kitchen.

“Jon? What are you doing?” he mumbled.

One of his hand was on his left ear and his eyes were still mostly closed as he reached in the little closet he had put against the fridge to retrieve a broom handle. After a bit of fumbling, he managed to hit the alarm so that the insistent beeping noise died down.

“I’m sorry…” began to say Jon.

Martin interrupted him by putting a hand over his mouth. Jon was surprised enough that he didn’t think to protest as the taller man brushed passed him.

“Oh! You made eggs! That’s nice” Martin sounded a tad more awake as he peered at the slightly less failed prototype Jon had managed to produce before almost burning down his new home.

“I…”

Once again, Jon was interrupted, by the shock of Martin putting a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth before starting to organize the mess he had made of his kitchen.

He couldn’t respond to Martin’s light teasing either, as the man took control of the cooking tools. For once, Jon couldn’t parse the meaning of the words, as panic slowly began to seep in.

Martin was beginning to scrub at the slightly charred pan when he seemed to notice Jon wasn’t reacting.

“Oh I’m sorry, was that not… okay…?”

Martin’s words slowly died down as he spoke. As if he couldn’t help but ask, desperate for an answer that he was already dreading.   
Jon knew the feeling all too well.

“Martin…” Jon began, slow and wary, himself unsure of what he was about to say. “What… did you think this was?”

Martin’s eyes widened minutely, but the change was obvious to Jon’s avid eyes. It was however slightly different than whatever embarrassed expression Martin usually wore…

“What did I think… ? Jon what do you mean? What did  _you_ think this was?”

There was a touch of anger there, something that made Martin look somewhat bitter.

“I… I would assume  _not_ whatever  _you_ thought.”

Even to his own ears, this sounded haughty and mean, but the flash of hurt in Martin’s eyes quickly hardened again.

“Jon. Listen. Can you… I…” Martin made himself pause, obviously composing himself, and when he spoke again, his tone was precise and clipped.

“Last week, we went out together for drinks, right? And you proposed to accompany me home, right?”

“I…”

“ _Jon_.”

“Well yes, I did, why is that…”

“ _Wednesday_ ,” Martin went on forcefully, bypassing Jon’s fumbled protests. “You treated me to lunch.”

“You’d forgotten yours…”

“ _And_  bought me a book the next day, that I had talked about.”

“Well I…”

“ _Yesterday,_  you offered to walk me  _back_ _home_ , and this morning you tried to cook me breakfast, even though, I know for a fact that you are,  _frankly_ , terrible in the kitchen” - at this, Martin shot a pointed look at his charred pan, which Jon felt was a bit unfair.

“I was just trying to…”

“ _Jon you slept, with me, in my bed. What the hell am I supposed to think?_ ” each word felt like Martin had pushed them out with a kick to the butt.

Jon’s mouth opened, and closed.

It did seem rather misleading exposed like that.

“But I… I didn’t…”

“Jon, come on. I know you’re asexual. I wouldn’t expect you to jump on me and I wasn’t about to push any boundaries.”

Martin sounded tired, now, dejected.

“I’m sorry I… didn’t mean… I…”

“It’s okay… I just…”

Martin dropped the pan he was still holding in front of me in the sink and went to sit on the couch, pointedly facing away from Jon.

Jon stayed frozen on the spot for several seconds. There was nothing he could think to say that wouldn’t make things worse, but he couldn’t really leave Martin like this, could he?

“Jon?”

Martin’s voice was soft and sad, and Jon had never before felt quite that guilty.

“Yes?”

“Do you think… now that you know that we kind of, you know… now that you  _know_ ; do you think we could still… go out sometimes?”

Jon’s immediate, knee-jerk reaction was to say no. He didn’t have the time, didn’t have the emotional ability, he wasn’t interested, and they were probably all going to die soon anyways. Even if he had wanted, it would have felt like punching at a brick wall.

But… the thought of leaving Martin, letting him to shoulder all of this alone… it felt unfair somehow. And those last few days, it wasn’t as though Jon hadn’t liked spending time with the younger man. If he refused, would Martin stop spending time with him, would he stop talking to him? Jon knew he wouldn’t, but… if anything, he wanted to knit himself deeper in the… friendship? relationship? he had with Martin. If they really only had weeks, months to live, he would rather die in the arms of a friend rather than alone. Besides, he now had numerous examples of why pushing people away for whatever reason was a bad decision.

Martin chuckled sadly from the sofa.

“I can almost  _hear_  you thinking over there. It’s okay, you know? You don’t have t…”

“I’d like to, actually. I think.”

Martin’s head snapped around.

“Spend more time together, I mean.”

“I… really?”

Jon shrugged and sat himself besides Martin on the couch, just close enough that his legs barely touched the man’s folded form.

“I don’t know about the uh… romance stuff? I’ve never been good with that part. But I also don’t want not to? I guess? And I  _would_  like to spend some more time with you.”

Martin stared. He looked as though he was about to cry. From sadness, anger or joy, Jon was in no emotional capacity to tell.

“Is that… Is that okay?”

God, he was getting as bad as Martin, stuttering all over the place.  
Jon couldn’t find it in himself to really mind, though.

“I… Yes, that’s fine.” Martin didn’t sound quite sure, but Jon would take what he could get.

An uneasy silence fell over the both of them. For once, Jon’s mind was completely blank, free of all the swarming information that usually crowding his mind, and he couldn’t forget the fact that his link with Martin - this thin thread he could feel and wasn’t sure was entirely natural – was very close to a breaking point.

“Jon?” Martin said after a bit.

“Yes?”

“Can I... um… Can I hug you? Please?”

“What? I mean, yes?”

Jon opened his arms awkwardly, and before he could wonder about angles and being comfortable, Martin dived into his chest, pushing him backwards against the couch cushions.  
His face pressed against Jon's shoulder, and if the small sounds the man couldn’t suppress were to be believed , his shirt wouldn’t get out dry of this encounter. Despite all this, Martin’s body against his own felt warm, and seemed to ward away some of the constant fear Jon had become used to experience.

They wouldn’t be fine, he knew. They wouldn’t be okay, and Jon at least was sure he wouldn’t get to see the end of this. But maybe, for now, they could take whatever comfort they had to offer each other.

Jon closed his arms around Martin, and let himself, just this once, relax.

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, the sensation of watching, approving eyes, that opened as soon as Jon closed his.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey btw, if any of you guys is in a tma discord server or something, I'd really like to join, cause I don't have many people to discuss this podcast with


End file.
